


The Game

by wholockchester



Category: Sherlock (TV), bbcsherlock
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:46:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 15
Words: 22,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25152628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wholockchester/pseuds/wholockchester
Summary: Sherlock now has a new foe to go up against that resembles his fallen enemy from years ago. Who would ever know that Moriarty would live on?
Relationships: Eurus Holmes/Jim Moriarty
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	1. The Newcomer

**Author's Note:**

> This is an adaptation of a story made from a Roleplay I was once part of. So, there are many Original Characters and various plot twists ;)
> 
> The long journey can be overcome with the help of others.

* * *

The rain beat hard down on the pavement on Baker Street, clouds blocked out all traces of the sun as a man walks down the sidewalk to his new flat with a slight limp. His new landlord was very generous with the price, since the neighbors next door were sometimes loud. Mrs. Hudson warned Maxwell that violin music can sometimes be heard going on for most of the night well into morning. That was perfect though, as a musician himself he didn't care. He just hopes that the sound of a cello wouldn't upset his neighbors. 

Carrying just one large suitcase and a cello case Max stops outside the door into the building to set down his things under the awning of Speedy's to pull out a cigarette and light it. He looks out at the traffic without a care in the world. The wind picks up as well as the rain forcing the man toswipe his unruly black hair out of his eyes and straighten his coat. _Not too bad of a place to stay. Seems a cozy little place._ Max thinks as he eyes a black car with tinted windows driving by more slowly than the other cars. 

Maxwell's thoughts become interrupted as the door opens and a tall man walks out. Immediately he knows who this man is. Sherlock looks over at Max, eyeing his cigarette before looking him up and down. _Approximate height 5'9. Unruly hair and somewhat patchy beard stating no time to keep himself cleaned up. Well dressed and presented though as well. Black hair, grey eyes walks with a limp. Past injury to the knee. New neighbor. Alcoholic or was. Musician._ Deductions are made easily and in seconds with looking at the man before him. "Mind if I borrow a light?" He asks, pulling out his own box of cigarettes.

"Not at all" Max pulls out his lighter and hands it to Sherlock, his Scottish French accent is just barely noticeable. "You're Sherlock Holmes." He says, stating the obvious.

"Yes, and you're the new tenant that Mrs. Hudson mentioned." Sherlock says rather bored. "You just got out of prison." He states looking Max in the eyes.

Max blinks in a bit of surprise. "How do you know that?" He asks a little cautiously.

"Well your hair and beard are a bit unkempt but you present yourself as best as possible. No wrinkles are seen in your shirt or jeans and your boots are cleaned up nicely. As most people in prison don't have access to shave most days but are given clothes and are expected to keep up a good appearance its not that hard to see." Sherlock answers quickly. "Your knee bothers you, I saw you walking down the sidewalk with a limp but its actually in pain. A preexisting injury I assume since it doesn't give you much trouble from what I saw. You play piano besides the cello because of how you motion with your hands when speaking. And you have a sibling that you're mad at because you keep checking your phone when it goes off and putting it back in your pocket not caring to answer it." Sherlock smiles for a moment. "I'm just assuming it's a brother?"

Maxwell stands silent for a moment before flicking his cigarette into a puddle. "Yes, I got out of prison 2 weeks ago because I was found not guilty. I had a bullet wound in my knee when i was younger, and yes, I have an adopted brother I really would not care to talk to at the moment. People don't lie when they say you're amazing at your job." He says as he bends down to lift up his suitcase and cello case. "But I should be off to set myself up in my new flat. Have a good day, Sir. Nice meeting you."

Sherlock opens the door so Maxwell can go through. "I hope you don't mind occasional explosions coming from my flat or the sound of the violin at 2 in the morning." He says, still eyeing the newcomer as he walks past. _Secrets but honest man._

"I wouldn't be here if I minded Mr. Holmes." Max says as he begins to walk up the stairs to the flat next to Sherlock's.

The second Sherlock closes the door his phone starts to ring. "Ah Gary what have you got for me?" A second passes before Sherlock's eyes spark with a bit of interest. "Yes I'll be right there." He hangs up his phone and reopens the door and calls up the stairs. "JOHN! Case! Come downstairs Jerry wants us at a scene!" He yells. Less than a minute later John comes down the stairs.

"Sherlock no need to yell that loud. His name is Greg and what is the case?" John asks pulling on his coat.

"I'll tell you on the way. Come on I haven't had a case for months!" Sherlock says hailing for a cab.

* * *

A shorter man with short cut, black hair stands across the bank that is swarmed with Lestrade's men as well as bystanders and journalists. A smile creeps along his face as he notices the detective making a telephone call. Obviously calling over Sherlock Holmes. The man pulls his long duster closer to him as he begins to walk away from the scene of the crime and disappear into the streets of London. _Let the games begin Mr. Holmes._


	2. Three Blind Mice

One dead man lays out on the floor of the bank with a single bullet through the skull, a pool of crimson blood pooled around it. Sherlock looks around the body, finding no evident clues of the killer anywhere. _He wasn't the_ _target._ He thinks as he closely examines the body. "Who is this man?" He asks out loud looking over to Lestrade.

"He worked here, Daniel Yorke. He was closing up the bank when presumably the killer came in. The security cameras were all damaged and no tape of the actual murder has been found yet. There is another inside the vault, even though it was locked up when we got here." Lestrade answers watching as Sherlock walks around, looking for any type of clue.

"Interesting" Sherlock drawls out as he makes his way past Lestrade and over to the open vault where the other body lay nearly mutilated. "Any idea who they are?" Sherlock goes over to the older looking man. His tongue has been cut out and eyes have been slashed with a knife. A long slice mark goes from just above his pelvis to the bottom of the sternum, displaying several of his internal organs. _It's not exactly a perfect slice._ _The killer obviously didn't like what this man had to say._ Sherlock inspects the cut in the abdomen closer. Seeing how much blood is around it he makes the deduction that the man was alive when sliced open.

"He was a judge and his name was Alistair Braxton." Lestrade answers again "I have no idea why anyone would choose to kill him."

"Well that's what we are here to find out." _Judge, every judge has someone who would kill them...bribes, faulty sentence, dismissing a case._

"Sherlock. You might want to come look at this!" John's voice is concerned enough to grab Sherlock's attention. He steps out of the vault and looks over towards the voice of his friend. He follows John into one of the offices to find a message on the wall, written in blood.

**3 blind mice, 3 blind mice,**

**See how they run, see how they run,**

**They all ran away fearing for life,**

**Couldn't keep up with the bloke with the knife,**

**Too blind to see that he has struck twice,**

**THREE BLIND MICE**

Sherlock examines the twisted nursery rhyme written in blood, Sherlock's interest has piqued quite a bit more. _Congratulations you have my attention._ "Now this is starting to get, interesting" He says softly, "There's been another murder somewhere. Gavin!" he calls.

"Greg" John corrects, yet again.

"Greg? Really? Greg! I'm going to need your men to look out for another murder. And any peculiar test results I'd like immediately." Sherlock turns to step out of the office before stopping short and looking down at a not so obvious bloody footprint on the rug. He bends down and inspects it with a magnifying glass. "And get pictures of this footprint. Judging by it the person is around 5'7 and male." Sherlock straightens. "I'd like all the evidence cleared from this place, processed and straight into my possession" He orders, even though he knows that's exactly what would happen anyway. "John we are going home."

John looks semi surprised "Really you usually hang around more to mock the others about how they do their job." He states as he gets out of the way of the men taking pictures of the bloody nursery rhyme.

"I have what I need I just need to get home now." Sherlock says leading John outside of the bank, the sky turning dark long before. _Three blind mice, three blind mice. See how they run, see how they run...._ The detective goes through the nursery rhyme over in his mind. _Who is the third mouse?_

Sherlock proceeds to walk in the direction of home. "The killer didn't like what the judge had to say, he was sending a message. That part is evident with the tongue being cut out." He says out loud. 

"Maybe it was personal?" John asks. "Or maybe it was just random"

"No, its too much of a calculated strike to be just random. It was either personal or the killer was trying to send a message. Either way, it was hinted that another person was murdered in the writing on the wall. I just don't know where that would be." Sherlock goes silent as he goes over everything he saw in the bank on the way home. "This is certainly very interesting at the moment. I haven't had a case like this in months."

* * *

Upon getting home John goes upstairs to the flat but Sherlock has stopped at the door outside. A single, bright red apple sits in a small puddle. A smiley face has been carved into it, almost perfectly. A large chunk of the apple has been bitten out on the other side of the face. Carefully Sherlock looks around and picks up the fruit and proceeds to follow John up the stairs to the flat. "Hey John..." 


	3. Stayin' Alive

"....I was thinking th-what? Oh God! What are YOU doing here?" Sherlock sighs as he sees his older brother sitting on the couch as he walks in shortly after John. "Whatever you're here for the answer is no. I have no time for you butting into my life Mycroft."

"Oh well." Mycroft doesn't even bat an eye at the slight anger in Sherlock's voice. "I don't want to be here anymore then you want me to be here. I came because I was summoned. Against my wishes." He says in a stern voice as he stands up, leaning onto his black umbrella. "So you're on a new case then?"

"Yes." Sherlock throws himself onto his chair and looks over at his brother. "As far as I know I haven't committed any new crimes in the last 72 hours, so the government shouldn't need you to come here. And your men as well as Lestrade's raided my flat and room just a week ago. Why are you here really?" He inquires. 

"I'm not lying when I say I was summoned, Sherlock." Mycroft says, looking a little annoyed. He pulls out an opened envelope from his coat pocket. "It seems you have a new admirer who wanted me here. I got this letter in with my mail this afternoon. Rather distasteful really, it called me a mouse. It also threatened your life if I didn't come over. We have big problems Sherlock. Whoever wrote it, wanted me to hand you this." Mycroft hands the note over to Sherlock who looks up at him rather confused before taking it.

"You never get this protective over me Mycroft."

"I'm not being protective I'-"

"Yes you are" Sherlock cuts in. "You never come over in person unless it's something urgent or you need something from me. A stalker is hardly anything to get out of the office for." Sherlock says before looking down at the poem on the paper, written in red ink.

**Tick Tock Tick Tock we are all in line with the clock**

**the game has begun Sherlock**

**a body's down at the dock**

**brothers and sisters are all to blame**

**as everything else goes in flame**

**don't you know I'll never be tamed?**

**A spider creeping up the wall**

**coming from the one who started it all**

**you'll never know until you fall**

**who I am is who you knew**

**he never died when you flew**

**and my words are always true**

**Come play with me**

**and only then will you see**

**I'll be better than my father could be**

**-The Entertainer**

_Moriarty? No that can't be. "_ Interesting." Sherlock says handing it back to his brother. "I still don't know why you are here, you could have just sent me a picture on your new fancy phone." An uncaring look rests on his face.

Mycroft sighs "Sherlock my note said I had to hand deliver this to you. I said this!" He looks over at John "Do you mind putting the kettle on? I need to have a chat with my brother."

"I'm not a maid, if you want your tea make it yourself." John says a little roughly. He has still not fully forgiven Mycroft for the fall.

"Oh lovely story time with _mother."_ Sherlock straightens up as Mycroft sits down across from him. "Thank you John." He looks up at John with a look to say just leave the room.

With a slightly frustrated sigh John goes into the kitchen to make the tea. Annoyed to be sent away not just by Mycroft but his friend as well.

"Sherlock." Mycroft says lowly to try and get his brother's attention. "I need you to actually listen to me, I know its hard for you to do so but please don't be childish for two seconds"

"I am NOT childish I just-"

"Sherlock!" Mycroft snaps. "He has a kid."

Immediately Sherlock shuts his mouth and goes quiet for once in his life. In the kitchen there's a clatter and John nearly sprints out. "What? Who?" He asks looking at Mycroft looking for answers but the older Holmes stays quiet. "Who Mycroft?!" 

Mycroft straightens his tie as he clears his throat. "Moriarty had gotten a young woman pregnant when he was just a teenager. We have no idea who the woman was or the name of the child but he mentioned it when I had him in my custody. The child would be around 24 now."

Sherlock stares into his brother's eyes for only a few seconds before shooting up onto his feet. "So you think the person who killed the Judge and sent the letter is his son? That would be nearly impossible! Why have you not told us this after all these years?"

"I wouldn't say it was Moriarty's kid but given the note and the message the person is trying to get across I'd say there might be a chance" Mycroft looks up at his brother. "And I never told you because I didn't think that it was important information until now. You never asked."

"You know the chances of the child to grow up in his father's footsteps are near improbably especially since Moriarty probably never stayed with her." Sherlock begins pacing and grabs the note again. "I need to go to the docks at the Thames. I'm sure the body has already been found. Goodbye Mycroft." He says, waving his hand dismissively towards the door. "Come on John." _There's no way it could be his child._

With another sigh Mycroft stands up. "Just be careful brother dearest we wouldn't want you shot again would we?" He says with almost no emotion as he sees himself out.

"Sherlock do you think that it could be-?"

"Don't be ridiculous John. Moriarty is dead and his kid never knew about him most likely come on. I know its late but there's a body at the dock!" Sherlock grins slightly as he practically runs down the stairs past his brother and hails for a cab, hardly containing his excitement on this new case.

* * *

There's a slight creak as the door to the small home opens up. In the light of the house and moon a small tattoo of a purple and blue orchid is seen on the wrist of the man who opened it. "Annnyooone hooome?" He draws out in a fairly chipper voice. "I was invited here on the circumstance that I would be meeting someone of importance."

The man says walking in and closing the door. He takes off his black duster and puts it over his arm, underneath the coat he was dressed in a rather bloodied red button up shirt and black pants which are equally as stained. He makes his way around the corner and into the living room where he grins, taking off his scarf as he does. Sitting on the couch is a man in his trademark Westwood suit who motions to the seat across from him. "Oh please, have a seat. Its not everyday we get to catch up."

"We haven't caught up since I was 11 months old." The man laughs out. "But it's good to see you're, stayin' alive." He says as he sits on the couch. "You wanted to chat, father?"


	4. The Other One

Many hours have gone by and the sun starts to rise in the sky. The faintest of sunbeams flows through the window as Moriarty sips on his tea, looking out at it all from the window. "I must say I'm quite proud of you, learning all you have accomplished by the age of 25." He says looking over at the man who's still sitting in the same place he was hours ago, his legs up on the table and head up towards the ceiling. "You rose up past all the other criminals so fast and staked your claim at the top just like myself, it takes a special type of person to be able to do that."

"Yes as I've mentioned my serums and ability to fight has served me well and I helped others. Unlike you I don't mind getting my hands a little dirty if it gets me the respect I deserve." The man grins as he opens his eyes and looks over at the door as it opens and shuts.

A woman walks through the door with a 6 year old child beside her. Her dirty blond hair goes past her shoulders even in a pony tale and her eyes are nearly a perfect shade of chestnut. She wears a long, red, well fitted dress that goes to her ankles with sleeves down to her elbows. "Jim, you didn't tell me you would be having company." She says softly, looking over at the stranger on the couch.

"Ah!" Moriarty grins almost devilishly as he goes over to the woman. "Eurus, I'm so happy you've returned in such a timely manner. And with Silas." He sets a not so tender hand on the child's dark brown hair. "I want you to meet Adam. He is my oldest son. Adam, this is Eurus Holmes, my partner in bed and crime." His grin never left his face. "And the mother of my youngest son Silas."

Adam stands up and quickly looks over the woman and child, the smile he shared with his father quickly goes away as he takes in everything about the woman and boy. "So, this is the disowned Holmes daughter I've heard much about." He muses, a small crinkle appears on Adam's forehead as he notices Silas shy away from Moriarty's hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you." He says as he holds out his hand to Eurus. She hesitates for a second, looking quickly to Jim and back at him before shaking his hand. She looks into Adam's multicolored eyes, left blue and right green with almost a look of no emotion, but Adam notices the fear deeply hidden under everything. "Are you okay?"

"Y-yeah, what? Why wouldn't I be?" Eurus says quite too fast before taking her hand away from Adam's, a little confused looking by his question. "Silas why don't you go upstairs? Adam will you be staying for breakfast?" She returns to Moriarty's side and he wraps a rather tight and possessive arm around her waist. As Silas nods and goes towards the stairs. The boy looks rather relieved to get away from Moriarty and Adam can't help but notice the side of his face seems to be bruised badly.

"No." Adam says after a second. His eyes go to fading bruises on her upper arms that look almost as if she was grabbed way too hard by them. His eyes go to his father. "I really must be going if I am to continue my little game with your plaything. I'll be sure to stop by later if that's alright?" His voice has gone from calm to a bit cold when looking at his father.

"Oh yes that would be perfectly fine." Moriarty says, too wrapped up in brushing loose hairs of Eurus' hair behind her ear and eyeing her like a hungry wolf to notice the change in his son's voice. "Some time this week would be okay. Though I won't be around next week. I have business." He says while not even looking away from the youngest of the Holmes children. "I'd like to hear more about your plan."

"I will pencil in a visit." Adam says, quickly picking up his scarf and putting on his coat. "Good day!" He calls, leaving as quick as he can without showing much emotion. As soon as the door shuts, his face becomes a stern, angered one. Memories of his teenage years with his adoptive parents pop into his mind. His 'father' beating him with a belt and the nights he studied by candle light while locked in the basement. He hurries off, pulling out a sharpened dagger and plays with it in hand while he walks away from his father's house. _You have lost an ally._ He growls to himself.

* * *

By noon he finds himself back at the abandoned building. Cracks line the walls and glass crunches under his feet as he walks to the basement. His flashlight unneeded as he opens the door to his homemade laboratory, lit by the lights above which are powered by the relatively silent generator in the corner. Cabinets of stolen chemicals, needles and tools line one wall as several cages of rats line another. An old and almost worn out notebook filled with equations and chemical structures is opened up on the table next to his laptop. Only when the door closes does he let go his pent up frustration. "I THOUGHT YOU WOULD BE DIFFERENT!" he screams at the floor.

He knew his father was evil, a mastermind, insane. But to be such **_SCUM._** This is over the line. You can be what you want to be, but an abusive parent is not one of them. It's not the highest of standards next to what he himself has done, but children are innocent. They don't need that kind of trauma, or fear at such a young age. It's exactly why Adam is the way he is now. Murdering those he feels deserve it, as well as putting on a show, a game for Sherlock. But now everything has changed. His thoughts of working with his father are thrown away like trash. The dream of finally getting appreciation from someone he could look up to, shattered.

"Piece of SHIT!" He yells, swiping his arm across the table, knocking down glass beakers and tubes onto the floor. In an overwhelming sense of anger he slams his fist into the glass of the wooden cabinet doors next to him. Glass sticks into his hand and blood slowly starts to fall down his skin, though he can't feel a thing. He has never been able to feel a thing, pain is only something he has ever felt emotionally, never physically. But it hurts just the same.

"No!" He gasps, standing up straight, still looking at his bleeding hand. Carefully he starts pulling out the small shards of glass as he walks over to his medical kit. He sighs as he starts wrapping up his bleeding palm, almost expertly as he is used to dressing his wounds. _The game will go on. I don't need him. But I can't be an enemy yet. I need to be smart about this._ He thinks to himself as he finishes wrapping up his palm. _I need to finish the game. And deal with HIM later._ He growls to himself as he walks over to a drawer and grabs a case out of it. Inside two sedatives reside. _He will be so proud. He won't know._ His eyes go to the clock above the door. A sick grin crawls on his face as he goes and turns the generator off and flicks his flashlight on, leaving the abandoned building and gets into his car. _I will be king. I will be feared. And I will be respected._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Eurus in this Sherlock universe is not "crazy" But instead roped into helping Jim from a young age after falling into the wrong crowd.


	5. Deep Waters

"It's time for your medicine Max." A small nurse says as she comes into the large common room. Everything is hazy around Maxwell as he stops playing his cello and looks up from the metal folding chair he sits at. "Thank you." He says politely says as he takes the pill with a large gulp of water. Around him are several people going about their business, most watching the television. Except for one boy around the age of 8. He sits in the corner, spaced out and looking at the ground. Max looks back to the nurse and puts his cello to the side. "Any word on when I'll be getting out?"

The nurse shifts a little uncomfortably "Your brother really wants to see you improve a bit more.."

"But I'm fine!" Maxwell's soft voice suddenly snaps. "I've been here for ages and I want to leave, this is no place for a 15 year old!" He growls, grabbing his cello once more. "Fine then. Please I'd like to be alone." He says, quickly becoming calm once again. The nurse seems sympathetic but also a little worried as she leaves.

Shortly after the little boy from the corner comes over, staring right into Maxwell's eyes. The hairs on the back of Max's neck stand up. The kid was quite creepy. He never spoke more than two words a week and none of them ever were directed to anyone but his doctor. Maxwell remembers the stories he heard of why the boy was here, and always was a bit sympathetic. The kid has been here since he was 6 years old. Its not a nice life to live in an insane asylum. Or a _mental institution_ as people like to say to make it sound better, and less of a nightmare. Max has only been here for a week and hopes to get out soon, he couldn't imagine living here for years.

"You sound like shit boy! You'll never amount to anything!" The boy suddenly says, grabbing Maxwell's bow and snapping it in half.

Max stares at the bow in the child's hands, transfixed by the bottom piece swinging slightly, still attached by the strings. His face goes blank almost zoned out. Then, slowly a look of confusion passes over his face as he grips his cello just a bit tighter at its neck. "What have ya done you bastard?!" He snarls, his soft and polite voice being replaced with almost pure anger.

The boy only grins as he drops the broken bow to the floor and turns around to start to walk away. Two nurses have come in, hearing Maxwell yell in anger. "Oh Max, don't worry about it we can-"

Before the nurse could even finish her sentence there's a loud crack and a messed up strum from the cello. The boy lands on the floor quite dazed as he was just struck by the large instrument. "I'll FUCKING kill you!" Max screams, a look of blind rage in his eyes as he lifts the cello up and slams it down onto the boys back breaking it to pieces. The boy cries out and tries to get up on his feet only to receive a hard kick in the stomach. 

The nurses rush over and grabs Maxwell by the sides and tries to pull him away. "Maxwell! Maxwell wake up! Wake up!" As he struggles to get released he starts to cough and spit out water onto the floor. "MAXWELL!"

* * *

"Maxwell!" 

Max gasps, his eyes shooting open, his left hand shooting up from water which he doesn't notice quite yet. He looks over towards the booming voice "What?! What?" Looking around confused. His eyes go to his right wrist. A rope is tied around it and hung on a nail above him. He notices that he's submerged in water that goes up to his neck. He yanks his right arm ripping the nail away from the large wooden pillar. Every now and again there's a slight pull on his ankle and he can feel a thick chain has been tightly wrapped and locked around it "Where?"

"Finally." Mycroft says, also in the same predicament as Maxwell only on the direct opposite side of the pole. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah.." Max says, looking at his surroundings to see they are both at the end of a long pier. "Where are we?"

"I'm guessing the Thames." Mycroft says rather monotone. "Does it matter?"

"Ah you two are finally awake!" The two men look above at the rather cheery voice. Two legs hang down off the side of the pier. "Are you ready for your turn in the game?" the man says with a laugh. Suddenly the feet disappear as the man stands. "I'll give you the short and sweet version of what is happening. For the simpleton." The man leaps off the pier and lands in the water, coming up and grinning towards them. "High tide is coming and if you stay at the levels you are now you both will drown. Which would be oh-so-terrible" The man says sarcastically. His multicolored eyes spark with interest. "The chains on both of your feet is the same one which was thread through a hole in the pillar. If one were to go underwater he would be able to save the other from drowning."

"So you're the Entertainer I presume?" Mycroft asks, looking over the man in front of him. _Dark black hair, two different eye colors. Around 5'7". Past nail biter, hand was once broken._ "what is your motive for this? You know you will be punished severely for your actions with me being a man in the government I'd rethink your decisions." He says, looking around trying to find a way out of this situation but unable to find one that's acceptable.

The man just laughs. "No, this is a game, and cheating isn't accepted." He says, pulling out Mycroft's phone from his pocket as he leans onto his back. "I just need to invite dear old brother along for the ride. Now, the question is, who's gonna live through this?" His grin widens.

"I swear when I get out of here you wont even make it to a courtroom." Mycroft growls dangerously.

"Ooh, scary bark you've got there Mycroft." He says, sending his text and chucking the phone into the water as far as he could. "No need to get defensive now dearest Myc. Its only a game. And the answer seems relatively simple, just kill the man you hardly know! It is such a high honor to sacrifice yourself for a Holmes." 

Maxwell's eyes narrow while studying the man. "I....Do I know you?" He says out loud, seeming to be ignoring the fact his life is at danger.

The taunting and chaotic smile slowly goes away as the man looks over at Max. "Quiet, the adults are talking right now" He says with a cold look in his eyes before turning back to Mycroft. "You have a few minutes to decide who's gonna die Myc." He says rather coldly as he takes in the sight of both of the shivering and doomed men for only one more second before swimming off towards shore. "Tick tock!" He calls back. "Toodle lou!"


	6. Brotherly Love

_How curious._ Sherlock walks around the decapitated head of a woman, staring down at a small key in his hand, blood soaking his fingers as well as the silver metal of the key. _Most definitely goes to a padlock._ Sherlock stops and looks around at the grand hall of his mind palace. _Why would you stuff this down her throat?_

"Sherlock?" John's voice forces Sherlock to open his eyes. His hand is still holding the plastic evidence bag the key is in. "We're home." John's already out of the cab and holds the door open for his friend.

It's well into the night now, the crime scene being rather interesting without a body present, only the head of an unknown woman. The fact that the head wasn't found at the docks like Sherlock had thought was quite surprising though. Lestrade wanted the key to be brought back to be tested for any other DNA than the victim before letting Sherlock go home with it. It's so tiresome to have to put up with the rules sometimes. Sherlock already knew it would have come back negative, its just a waste of his time. Besides the real thing they need to figure out is who she was and why she's dead now. Why was she chosen?

"Excellent." Sherlock puts the bag in his pocket, his hand brushing the apple from earlier today. He hops out and goes past John, opening the door and marching up the stairs. _These are not our footprints_. He stops short and looks down behind him at the first step. Through the dark blue of the rug it's hardly visible but there is in fact a muddy footprint. _Same size as the one at the bank._ He turns his head forward and looks farther up the stairs to see that the flat door is open a crack. He holds his hand out as John starts to follow him. He slowly starts to make his way up to the landing and listens intently through the door.

After a few seconds he deems it safe and pushes the door to the flat open all the way. Nothing seems to have been moved or taken but something has been left. On the coffee table is a ship in a bottle and an envelope addressed to Sherlock. Sherlock inspects the door to see that it was forced open, more likely by a swift kick right below the handle. "John will you go grab that envelope?" He asks as he walks in. He grabs the apple and the key out of his pocket and sets it down at the kitchen table. He pulls out a manila folder from his inside coat pocket and opens it, revealing pictures and all the known information on the two killings from today. He studies them for a second before holding out his hand for John to place the envelope in hand. "Thank you John. Now I need to go over everything feel free to sleep. I know you haven't been getting enough of it at night."

"I'm fine" John says, sitting down at the table. Sherlock isn't wrong of course. Through the last couple of nights John probably slept for only 10 hours all together. "So, what have you got so far?" He asks, looking over everything on the table and stopping at the apple, looking slightly confused.

Sherlock doesn't answer as he's opened up the envelope and is reading the letter inside.

**A-tisket a-tasket**

**a solid wooden casket**

**I've stolen something of importance**

**and I may have already dropped it**

**dropped it dropped it!**

**and I may have already dropped it**

**Come on already and pick it up**

**the answer's in your pocket**

**-your Entertainer**

Sherlock lets the paper fall to the table looking a little disappointed. "I hate riddles." He mutters. "John, search your room to see if anything is missing. I'll do the same." He says, walking away from the table, looking around the entire flat to see if he missed something.

* * *

"You're late. Where were you?" Adam says as he hears the door open and shut. He slowly sets down the book he was reading and looks up to a man that's nearly identical to him in every way. "You weren't reorganizing the books at the library again were you Andrew?"

"Mmm....maybe" A slight grin appears on Andrew's face. His hair is much more disheveled than his brother's, all pushed off to one side haphazardly just to get it out of his eyes. "I'm sorry for being late though. I forgot it was catch up night." A much more heartfelt smile comes out of the grin. "So what's new with you? Other than your change in hours at the bar?" He asks while sitting down in a chair, maneuvering himself so he's laying across it. "I tried to find another job today. But I don't think they liked me."

"Well," Adam goes back to reading. "I'm sure you'll find something else you like other than that blasted retail job." He says with a semi dull voice. "And I've been okay. I've been working at the bar only a few nights a week now." 

"How come you don't invite me over more then?" Andrew asks before getting up and going into the kitchen. "Do I bother you?"

"No, it's just that I'm not much of a people person. I mainly like to be by myself dearest brother." Adam sets the book down. "Sorry about there not being any food tonight. Carla is out with her parents and I'm not one to make a whole meal for just one person." 

"It's fine. I ate already today. I'm just glad you invite me over to talk every now and again." Andrew swipes at a strand of hair that fell between his eyes. They too are two different colors but the mirror opposite of Adam's, the left one green and the right blue.

"You know you could try and get an actual job at that library instead of helping them out for free. I think they are looking for someone."

Andrew excited gasp sounds more of a hiccup from the kitchen. He comes around with two mixed drinks. "That is a wonderful idea! I had no idea they were looking for someone. I'd do great at that job." Andrew says, setting one of the glasses next to Adam as he sits again. With a little mischief in his voice he says. "Ooh I saw the cutest person I've ever seen today while walking over here."

"Oh really? What did he look like?"

"Oh you know, tall, handsome, baby blue eyes and blond hair. I didn't talk to him though. He was with a woman. Disappointing really!" He laughs.

Night comes slowly as Adam and Andrew talk for hours, until Andrew falls asleep on the chair. Adam sighs covering him with a blanket and looks down at him. They don't always get along but its better when they do. They have their differences, but they are still family _._ Adam sits down across from his brother and watches as he seems to sleep more easily then last time he was over. _I'm sorry._

A small wave of guilt and anger washes over Adam. _They should never have put him into that place._ He grits his teeth with anger. The stories that were told by Andrew once he got out were just as sickening as Adam's with their adoptive parents. He stands up and goes into his bedroom, pacing back and forth before going into the closet and pulling out a small shoe box that looks years old. Inside is a photo of their biological mother in a frame as well as a picture of the twins together. They were only 4 then, cute, innocent. _I just had to fuck it up didn't I? But do not worry, Andy. It wont happen again._


	7. Treading Water

_Why a boat?_ Sherlock holds the ship in a bottle in his hand. He hasn't slept all night and already it's well into the day. The bright shine of sunlight cascades through the bottle as he turns it. It has nothing inside but the ship, which has been masterfully done. The ship itself is the Titanic. Sherlock sets it down beside the key and the apple and lets out a growl of frustration, running his hands through his hair. _The Titanic sank in the Atlantic Ocean. April 14th 1912. Nothing so far connects this to ANYTHING!_

He picks it up again, stopping when he hears a faint sound from within it. He shifts the weight back and forth and can feel a shift in weight. _This shouldn't be this heavy._ He shakes the bottle slightly and once again hears something seemingly bounce off the inside walls of the ship. He sets it down again and looks it over once more. _Well it_ **_seems_ ** _like a regular ship on the outside so..._

In one swipe of his hand the bottle is flying through the air and smashes into the wall. The glass shatters all over the ground and the ship breaks in half, with several smaller pieces speckled about the floor. Something metal thumps to the floor as the ship does causing Sherlock to walk over curiously. The glass crunches under his feet as he bends down and picks up the two halves of the ship, leaving behind a small metal case behind. He throws the pieces to the side and picks up the case. _There we are..._ He opens it only to find a golden pocket watch inside that's missing the chain. _Woodford, it's a full hunter style..._ Sherlock thinks as he turns the pocket watch slowly in his hands twice. Suddenly he stops, his eyes going to the small engraving at the bottom of the watch back. The engraving itself is done expertly, and only consists of two letters, MH. _This is Mycroft's._

Sherlock immediately gets up and grabs his phone. **Where are you?** **-SH.** He sends the text and looks back over all of the evidence. _Something has to happen at a dock. In the water most likely. I've lost something of importance. My brother. Why? Why Mycroft? He serves no purpose and he's so_ ** _boring_** _._ Sherlock flips over the watch in his hand repeatedly before opening it up. The hands have stopped working and it is slightly damp inside. _So most likely it has been damaged by water_.

After a few minutes of no answer from his brother he quickly grabs his coat and puts it on, rushing with a sense of urgency. He goes to the table and picks up the key, stuffing it into his pants pocket for safe keeping. "John wake up!" He calls. _Queenhithe, Execution, Limekiln. Why in bloody hell is there so many docks near London?!_ "John lets go!" He yells again after a second.

"I'm up, where are we going? What's the matter?" John asks, coming out of his room and hearing the slight urgency in Sherlock's voice.

"The man, Entertainer, whoever has taken Mycroft and I believe he's being held at one of the docks around London. We need to check them all!" Sherlock doesn't wait for John as he goes through the broken door and starts to make his way downstairs. _If he dies...No! He won't._

* * *

Mycroft grunts as he tries to pull his arm away from the pole. His wrist is still bound to the well secured nail above him. Unable to reach up and untangle the rope around his wrist he looks over to Maxwell. He is holding onto the pillar with one hand wrapped as far around the pole as possible. He tries to, unsuccessfully, slip his foot through his ankle chain. His other hand is holding his shoe that he managed to kick off. "Maxwell do you think you could help me get my wrist out of these binds?"

Max looks over. "Does it even matter? There's no way we can get out of these chains!" He coughs and spits out some water, which has risen to the point that he has to keep his head up to make sure that none of it gets into his mouth. He doesn't wait for an answer and moves over to help Mycroft. He only gets as far as halfway to Mycroft before the chain stops him. "I can try though." He grunts as he reaches up but it's still too far. "I can't" He growls, getting more frustrated by the second. "Why am I even here? What the hell is going on anyway? I don't need this!" He snaps as he returns to where he was and once again tries to get the chains free from his ankle.

Mycroft sighs "Getting upset over this is not helping the situation Mr. MacDuff. I have no idea why you are here. The man is simply psychotic, especially for choosing me. He'll have the whole government searching for him for this." He watches as Max once again growls in frustration on not getting his foot free. "That's not going to work either."

"You don't know that." Max growls. "And I don't see you trying to help the situation either! I refuse to be sacrificed for anyone, in any situation, not even a Holmes. I have no intention of dying today!" He spits out water lifting his head more but the water is now almost above his bottom lip. "You need to get loose, I'm too far under." He coughs.

"I've been trying to get out!" Mycroft snaps, the water only up to the taller man's chin. "And, I'm sorry to say but when it comes down to it I'm more needed than you. I hope you understand that I'm expecting I'll be the one to get out of this alive if both of us cannot make it. I'm just too valuable to die at the hands of some psycho." He states while trying once more to get loose.

Suddenly there's a sharp tug at Mycroft's chain, trying to pull him down. He grunts in pain from the strain of his arm pulled taut. "Hey!" He looks over at Maxwell and stops to take in the man's sudden change.

His once soft, kind looking eyes have become a death glare. His teeth are grinding and a look of pure anger has replaced the panic he had just seconds ago. His free foot is pressed firmly on the pole in front of him and he glares at Mycroft for a second before kicking off the pole again with all of his might, again pulling the chain more to his side. "I don't think you understand." His voice has become slightly deeper and dark. "I REFUSE to die." He kicks off again, moving his arms to try and push himself further from the pole than the strength of his leg can.

Mycroft gasps as the nail bends and finally pops out, submerging Mycroft in the water for a moment. Lifting himself up he sucks in a breath. "Maxwell wait!" He coughs out some water. "We still have time, we don't have to resort to this yet. We have maybe a couple minutes-"

"NO!" Maxwell snarls, "I did not come here to let us die!" Max again tries to pull the chain more his way.

Mycroft is pulled under the water. _He's going to kill me._ Thinking quickly he grabs the chain near his ankle and pulls with all his strength. He wraps it around his wrist once and pulls again, this time pulling Maxwell under too. He braces his foot on the pole and kicks off as best as he can and pushes himself to the surface. _No one would know, and if they did would it even matter?_ He grunts and takes in a deep breath as he pulls the chain taut and grabs the pole tightly.

With his ankle nearly flush with the pillar Maxwell finds himself unable to get a good foothold on it. He kicks as best he can off of it which causes Mycroft to grunt in pain and hold up the arm that holds the chain as high as he can, as to not give Maxwell the wiggle room he needs.

Desperate for air, Maxwell lashes out above him, trying to swim up to the surface which is only a foot away. He grabs his own ankle and yanks, getting a little of the chain back but not nearly enough. Mycroft grunts as his arm is pulled by Max's desperate attempts to get above the water. He lifts up once again on the chain to ensure that Max can't try and pull him down once more. They'd both drown if that were to happen.

_I can't die! DON'T LET ME DIE!_ Maxwell screams in his head as he slowly lets out the air from his lungs. His chest feels as though it's going to burst open and the need for oxygen eventually overrides everything as he sucks in a lungful of water. He stops moving, his grip on his ankle loosening until he is free floating in the water. _I'm going to die. Please......it's so cold here. I can't breathe._ Maxwell's vision starts to get encircled by darkness and his mind starts to get covered in a thick fog. The pain slowly starts to ease away, lost in the dark fog as he falls unconscious. 

The chain bites at Mycroft's palm as he holds it as tightly as he can, watching as the stream of bubbles on the surface starts to stop. The pulling gets weaker, and then the only movement he feels is one caused by the tide. He lets the chain slack a little bit and not feeling a pull from the other side he lets it drop from his arm all together. He shivers in the cold water, looking around once more to see if he could escape.

"Mycroft!?"

Mycroft looks up almost bewildered at the distant sounding voice of his brother, followed by heavy footsteps running across the dock above. "Sherlock! I'm here!"


	8. Shackled in the Mind

“Hold still!” Adam growls, tightening the tie around his brother’s neck. 

“But, I don’t like ties! Why do I have to wear it?” Andrew grumbles, looking down at the silver tie Adam chose. It matches well with the black button up shirt. He rolls his head around. “It’s too tight.” 

“That’s how ties are, yes. Don’t you want to give a good first impression?” Adam says, straightening Andrew’s shirt and blazer. “It’s always better to dress up for things like this if you want the job.” He sighs and takes a step back, looking over his brother. “Sit down.” 

Andrew sits on the dining room chair, playing with the tie. “I do want the job but....Do i really need this stupid tie? I feel like I’m being choked. Wouldn’t I look nice without it?” He lifts his eyes as he watches his brother brush out his hair. “My hair looked fine though!” He lets out a small yelp as a knot is brushed out. 

“It’s not fine, you look like you have birds trying to use it as a nest.” Adam mumbles, brushing the hair neatly onto one side. _My God, just stay still._ “Are you ready to go?” 

“Sure.” Andrew gets up and runs a hand through his freshly washed and brushed hair. He follows as Adam puts on his coat and motions to the door. Andrew lets himself out and starts walking towards the car. “I didn’t think you cared so much for me.” 

“Nonsense.” Adam locks the door before following. “If it gets you a paying job that’s close to your home I have no issue with helping. You still need to learn how to drive eventually though.” He says, hopping in the driver’s seat. 

Andrew ignores his brother’s statement as he gets into the passenger side. “Why were you all wet when you came home? Did you fall into water or something?” 

Adam is silent as he pulls out into the road. _Shit. Why was I all wet?_ “The bar had a break in the water line, I had to fix it.” He says quickly. 

This answer seems acceptable to his brother as he nods his head, looking out the window. “I’m worried about this. You know how I get when I need to talk to new people. What if they don’t like me?” 

“You’ve been working for them without being paid for years, Andy. I don’t think they would mind hiring you since you do a decent job at organizing the books, and a lot of people like you. Carla likes you.” He looks over at his brother for a split second. “I like you. You just need some confidence.” _I’ve forgotten how anxious he really is._ “You’ll do fine. I made up your resumé last night, just have to answer some questions and give them your number so they can call you if they choose you.” 

“You like me?” Andrew raises an eyebrow. “We fight at anything we disagree on.” 

“That is how people are. And that isn’t the takeaway of what I said. Were you even listening?” Annoyance coats Adam’s voice. _ADHD bastard._

“Yeah, I was” 

“Then what did I just say?” Adam asks as he parallel parks in front of the library. He looks over expectantly at his brother.

“You said I need confidence and this sheet of paper.” Andrew opens the door and steps out of the car. “You’ll wait for me?” 

“Of course.” 

“Good.” Andy quickly loosens the tie enough to pull over his head, ruining his hair in the process. He throws it at his brother and runs a hand through the mess he’s made of his hair. “See you in a few!” He quickly shuts the car door and jogs to the library, quickly disappearing inside.

Adam growls, more in frustration then annoyance now. _Why do I even bother when he does shit like that?_ He sighs and pulls out his phone while he waits. Nearly a half hour later Andrew comes out and opens the car door. “Well, how did it go?” 

“They said that they appreciated that I came along because they have been looking for someone for a while.” Andy gets back into the car. “They liked what you wrote on my resumé too. And I mentioned to them that I was always in there helping out anyway. So they said they would call when they can. I lost my phone so I gave them your phone number to call.”

“Well that’s good. Wait, you don't have a phone anymore? What happened?” Adam asks as he gets the car out of the parking space and starts to go on his way. “Where do you live again?” 

“Well… I kind of broke it and lost it after.” Andew mutters. “Do you mind if I go back home with you?” He asks, looking down at his hands. 

Adam sneaks a look at his brother. He sees Andrew’s face portraits a bit of sadness, loneliness and of course his signature shy eyes. _He’ll mess up everything…_ “No, I don’t mind at all.” He says, making a turn to go back from where they came. “I’ll get you a new phone tomorrow alright? And you can stay as long as you need. I wouldn’t mind the company.” 

Andrew lets a small smile creep on his face as he looks out the window again. “Are you sure I’m not a bother?” 

“No.” _Why does he always need reassurance? Do I not care for him enough?_ “Stay as long as you’d like.” He smiles softly at his brother. “You can teach me how to play guitar in our spare time together.” 

Andrew’s eyes light up and his smile grows bigger. “I’d love that! I can’t wait!” 

Adam looks back at the road and sighs softly to himself as he turns up the radio in the car. It is unspoken knowledge to Andrew that when the radio goes up it means Adam is done talking. _I wonder if he hurts just as much as I do. But he is so confident. He’s moved on from everything without a single bump in his road._ Andrew’s smile slowly disappears as he looks out of the window. He remembers the day he was saved by his brother. After so many years in that place it has been hard on Andy to involve himself more with people. An image of a dead dog flashes before his eyes. _It’s my fault I was put there. I’m a danger to society._

* * *

Without thinking Sherlock ran to the end of the dock and jumped in, his hand clutching the key tightly. He looks around, seeing the shadow of Maxwell under the water he swims over and submerges himself. In an instant he sees the padlock that keeps the chain around his ankle and unlocks it as quick as he can. He then grabs Max under the arms and swims up to the surface, taking in a needed breath. He wraps an arm around Max’s chest and starts swimming to shore. 

With the chain undone on the other side Mycroft is able to pull the chain fully through the pole and follow after his brother. The chain proves troublesome in doing this but he manages. He steps up onto the shore as Sherlock sets Maxwell down in front of John, who immediately goes to do CPR. “What took you so long?” Mycroft says, never taking his eyes off of Max as John desperately gets him to breathe. 

“I had to go around every dock I could think of to search for you, what do you mean what took me so long?” Sherlock throws his brother the key to unlock the other padlock. “Who did this, how did this happen?” 

“Our friend the Entertainer I’m guessing.” Mycroft says, bending down to unlock himself. “I have no idea how I got here. All I remember is leaving your flat and going to my car.

“Did you see him? What did he look like?” 

“Tall, black hair, two different colored eyes.” Mycroft stands straight. “He looks like a very young Moriarty.”

Sherlock is silent for a moment and then nods. “Right.” He looks over as Maxwell coughs out the water from his longs and rolls onto the side, gasping in air. “What happened to him?” 

“Drowned obviously. He tried to kill me first and I had to take the matter into my own hands.” Mycroft’s voice is void of any emotion. “He recognized the man from somewhere. And he did not like being recognized.” 

Max goes on his hands and knees, coughing profusely and throws up. John puts a hand on his back, patting it lightly to try and help him. “I’m fine...thank you.” Max manages to force out between coughs. John nods and stands up. 

“How long was he under for?” He asks, looking at Mycroft. 

“Not any longer than a minute.” Mycroft sighs, looking over at Sherlock. “I’d better get going now, may I borrow your phone to get a hold of Anthea?” 

Sherlock wordlessly hands Mycroft his drenched phone. “John, call a cab? We need to bring Mr. MacDuff back to Baker Street.” He takes his phone back from Mycroft once he’s done. “So you’re not going to help, even after what this man has done to you?” He asks his brother. 

“I did not say I wasn’t going to help. I have my ways to dig up information on people. I just leave the legwork for you.” Mycroft answers, flashing his trademark smirk. “I’ll be in touch if you need it.” With that he makes his way up to the road. 

_ At least he isn’t dead.  _ Sherlock sighs. “How long until the cab gets here?” 

“Around 5 minutes. Are you okay Maxwell?” John asks. 

“Fine. I don’t need any help getting home. I’m fine by myself.” He says, in a hoarse voice. 

“You are not okay, you have been targeted by a criminal that seemed to have either you or my brother dead. Most likely the both of you. ” Sherlock scolds. 

“Not to mention, you nearly drowned.” John inputs. 

“You will accompany us back to Baker Street.” Sherlock states firmly. “Mycroft said you recognized the man who took you two. From prison? Do you know his name?” 

Max shakes his head. “He only looked familiar. I have no idea from where though but it definitely wasn’t from prison.”

“You have no idea from where?” 

“No.”  _ Maybe. _

Sherlock grits his teeth in a bit of annoyance.  _ Great. _ “Either way. We will give you a ride back. I suggest though you try real hard to remember Mr. MacDuff. Or there could be many others who fall victim to this man. The sooner we know who he is the better.” 

At that point the cab has arrived and Mycroft has already disappeared. The three men get inside the cab. Sherlock and John start talking as Maxwell looks out the window.  _ Could it be from when I was younger? Who was that little boy.  _ For a faint second he remembers the dream he had while still unconscious, before Mycroft had woken him.  _ No, It wasn’t him. I would have remembered that face. The kind of lost look in that boy’s eyes never leaves a man.  _


	9. A Wolfe Among us

**Ashworth is a wonderful place this time of year.**

**-Your Entertainer**

**P.S. My father says hello**

Sherlock looks at his phone, the message is hours old at this point. He hadn’t even noticed he got it until he was in the cab going home. Mycroft must have looked at it too since it didn’t show up as a new message. The time it was sent from his brother’s phone was right around the time Sherlock started checking the docks. _Ashworth is a mental hospital._

The sky turned a purplish pink as the sun began to set. _Who are you?_ He sighs, setting his phone down and runs his hands down his face. Of course tomorrow he will go to Ashworth no doubt about it, but not knowing what’s coming next is driving him insane. _How could I have not known he had a son? Is he still alive? I saw him shoot himself in the face. He was DEAD. Molly was never able to get the autopsy report though from the fire. Everything was lost including the body. Could he have pulled it off and come back from the dead like myself?_

Sherlock’s thoughts are stopped as John comes through the broken door. “Maxwell will be fine, but he says he doesn’t know where he recognized the man from or even if he knew him at all.” 

“Well that’s just great. Our only lead doesn’t even know. It’s probably because of his schizophrenia.” Sherlock says matter factly. “When I met him, while he was moving in the other day, he had his medicine in his pocket. If it is severe enough he probably had delusions on what he saw before on medication. Also they tend to second guess themselves about what they remember.” 

“Well that would explain it. Would be possible that whoever took them resembled someone or something that Max believed he’d seen. How are you?” 

Sherlock looks over, a bit surprised and confused, though it hardly shows. “I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“Well you almost lost your brother today. We have no leads on who this is, and it seems as though the man has at least some kind of connection to Moriarty. Even if he isn’t the son of him.” John states, sitting down. “With the possible involvement of Moriarty, this case seems to surpass our normal cases. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” 

“I’m fine John really, this is merely like any other case. We just have a man who idolizes Moriarty and wants to follow in his footsteps. He will mess up eventually, and we will apprehend him just like any other.” The phone on the table goes off and he quickly picks it up to find a message from an unknown number. 

**I had such high hopes the musician would die.**

-E

_He has something against Maxwell, but what?_ “Tomorrow we are going to Ashworth. I got a lead. I think we might find something useful there. Why don’t you try to sleep tonight? You look exhausted.” 

“We never fixed the door.” John sighs. 

“It’s fine. I’ll be staying up once again.” Sherlock stands, going over to the coffee table, the Titanic ship has been repaired as much as possible. A few missing wood chips here and there but it’s back in one piece. 

“You know you need to sleep too. The body runs better when it has enough rest.” 

“I’ll sleep when this case is over.” Sherlock says with a low voice, barely above a whisper as he lifts up the apple. _He could have pulled it off. That fire was always suspicious._

* * *

_Interesting._ Mycroft sips on his tea as he looks at his laptop. A picture of a young boy with dark brown hair is up with a small description, a cello neck is seen in his hand. _No wonder he acted the way he acted._ He says, looking over Maxwell’s old file at Ashworth’s. _Wonder why he changed his name from Cyrus Wolfe. No wonder why I couldn’t find out more about him beforehand. He’s hiding from his past._

Seeing the text on his brother’s phone he immediately got his hands on all the files of Ashworth in the past 20 years. His men ran through each photo and description until they found one that matched what Maxwell would have looked like when younger. All of this only taking a day. _Has episodes of explosive anger, recently had one such episode where he smashed his cello over our youngest patient. Andrew Welsh._ Mycroft skims through the rest of the file. _Released 10 months after being admitted, on medication and seeming to be functioning normally._ Mycroft scoffs. _Normally._

Mycroft minimizes Maxwell’s file and in a few seconds has the file of the young boy, Andrew Welsh. He pauses and looks at the picture for a long time. _That’s him. But his eyes are switched. The photo has to have been flipped when added to their digital copies._ _Admitted at the age of 6 by foster parents. Killed a dog and ripped it open...chopped the head off and stuck it on a fence post. Kept until the age of 16. Family never came back for him. Released into the custody of Josephine Smythe, new foster mother._

Mycroft minimizes that tab as well and searches for the name of the foster mother, finding an article of a house fire. _House fire completely took out the entire building. Nothing left standing. The owner Josephine Smythe, age 28, presumed dead as well as her newly adopted son Andrew Welsh, age 16._ Mycroft prints the article out as well as the two files of Maxwell and Andrew. He stands up and finishes his tea before taking the printed pages about Maxwell. “Anthea, clear my schedule for the next two days and get the car ready.” He calls, putting on his coat. He grabs a manila folder and puts the pages inside as he gets ready to go.


	10. Uncomfortable Conversations

It’s almost noon when Maxwell finally gets himself out of bed. He groans as he moves through his flat. Moving boxes are all over the place. The only things he has been able to unpack so far are his black cello and several music sheets that cover the coffee table. He had begun to unpack the other day, but was rudely interrupted by the mysterious intruder. Once again he kicks himself for having his music too loudly to hear the door open. 

He looks around again at all the boxes with a sigh _. I should really get my shit together._ He looks over at the empty bookshelf, and then to the window besides it. The sun finally is out, and he can see a few doves fly by. _Or, I could work on my music in the park._

With his mind made up Max packs up his cello and a couple sheets of paper and heads out of the flat. He stops short and goes back and opens one of the boxes, lifting up a thin black box and opening it to reveal a sharpened hunter’s knife. _I will not be surprised again. Not without a fight._ He puts the sheath over the blade and flips it in his hand before slipping it into his coat pocket.

He then heads back down the stairs and past Sherlock’s still broken door. _It’s very quiet, they must have left already._ He walks outside and smiles a little while looking up towards the blue sky. With the case strap around his shoulder, he makes his way towards Regent park. 

He gets to about halfway to his destination before a black car with tinted windows pulls up beside the sidewalk. Max looks over suspiciously as he sees the window roll down. “Would you like a ride?” Mycroft asks nonchalantly. He’s sitting in the seat opposite of the window. 

Maxwell hesitates for a second. “No, I think I’m okay.” He mumbles. He clutches the strap around his shoulder a bit harder, his other hand goes into his coat pocket and wraps around the handle of his concealed weapon. 

“Oh, well I insist, Wolfe. I wasn’t really asking. Get in.” Mycroft’s voice is a bit more stern this time. 

While glaring at Mycroft with narrow eyes Max steps closer to the car, sighing as he opens the door and sits himself down. His cello is brought in front of him, resting in between his legs as he closes the door. 

“We have some things to talk about, _Cyrus_.” Mycroft eyes Maxwell as the window rises. 

Maxwell goes rigid. “Say what you want quickly or say nothing at all but do NOT call me that. That is not my name.” The words come out in a growl. “Have you planned to try and kill me, again?”

“You tried to kill me first.” Mycroft doesn’t look fazed at all with the aggravated tone Max takes. “At the age of 13 you were put into a foster home because of your abusive father. You went to Ashworth when you were 15 and let out the same year, which is curious considering the multiple violent outbursts. You have severe schizophrenia and anger problems. You went after your foster father with a knife which put you there. You have gone by Maxwell for years yet you never legally switched it. Two years ago you were suspected of killing your younger brother, Matthew MacDuff and put in prison, though just about 3 weeks ago you were let out since they found they made a mistake.” 

“What does this have to do with anythin-”

“I’m not finished.” Mycroft clears his throat. “You were put under the custody of your older, foster brother Jacob MacDuff after your release from Ashworth. You both would play at gatherings with your cellos, but as soon as you were 18 you left. From that age to 2 years ago you completely went off the grid. So much so that even _I_ don’t know where you were or what you were doing. Now.” His voice becomes deadly serious. “Why are you at Baker Street?” 

Maxwell’s eyes go from worry to confusion. “Wh-what? You dug up all of this information on me just to know why I live there?” 

“Perhaps.” 

“Well, the rent was cheap.” Maxwell answers honestly. “That’s really the only reason. I don’t make much money.” 

“How do you make money?” 

Maxwell pauses. “My brother helped me out. I plan on getting a job soon. Listen, I have no ill intent on you or your brother. I’m sorry about what happened and you were fully in the right to do what you did.” 

Mycroft sits further back in his seat and pulls the file from beside him. “You know of this boy?” He asks, bringing out the picture from Andrew’s file and handing it over to Maxwell. 

He studies it for a long time. _He was only a young boy._ _He looks so normal in that picture._ A single flashback of the little boy returning to Maxwell’s mind, blood pouring from the boy’s broken nose. _I really put him through hell._ “Yes.” 

“Looks a lot like the man. His name is Andrew Welsh. I believe he would like to see you dead.” Mycroft takes the printed picture back. 

“Is that all?” 

“What?” Mycroft looks up from the file. 

“Is that all? Can I leave now?” 

Mycroft smirks a little. “Oh no. What were you up to in the years you were off the grid?” 

Maxwell tries to remember anything from his 20’s, failing miserably. “I know I was an alcoholic. That’s all I remember though. The rest is just a blur. Like I completely blacked out for it all.” 

_He’s not lying. Curious how someone could lose over a decade of their life._ “Alright. If you say so. You may leave if you wish. I would keep eyes in the back of your head though. Wouldn’t want you to die again would we?” 

Max shoots Mycroft with a death glare as he opens the door and quickly gets out, slamming it shut with nearly all his strength. _Prick_ . He walks quickly, his body tense. His limp is almost nonexistent as he goes the complete opposite direction of the park now. His plans have changed. _How fucking dare he, bringing my past up just for amusement!_ Images come flooding back of the asylum. The look of his brother Jacob when he first got convicted. _Do not worry. He will get what’s coming._ For a second he stops, it’s been a very long time since he has heard that voice in his head. _Go AWAY. I need a drink._ He snarls as he goes to find a liquor store or a bar. Anywhere he can get a long needed drink. 

* * *

“Get on your knees.” Adam’s voice drips with pure rage. His eyes bore into the eyes of the older man before him. “It’s nice to finally meet you, I’m glad you still pour your heart and soul into this place. If you ever had either.” Adam silently cocks his revolver, his eyes never leaving the head administrators. “Get on your fucking knees.” He snarls once more. 

A man around the age of 50 trembles as he goes to his knees. “Please, I beg you, I don’t want to die. Not today, I have a family.” 

Adam’s eyes narrow as he walks closer, pressing the barrel of the gun to his forehead. “I have family too.” He says in a deadly calm voice. “And you ruined him. Andrew Welsh was brought in here 19 years ago. He never spoke a word to anyone but his doctor. He was brought here by his bastard adopted family for killing a dog.” He pulls the trigger making the man cry out in fear, only to realize the chamber wasn’t loaded. “Do you remember him?” 

“No.” The man gasps, trembling even harder. He looks up the barrel of the gun, tears gloss his eyes without running down his face. “I’m sorry, whatever I did, I’m very sorry.” 

Adam lets out a rather angered laugh, a chilling smile appears on his face as he cocks the gun again. “Oh, it was what you _didn’t_ do.” His eyes are filled with amusement more than hatred at this point. The power he feels when he makes a grown man beg and cry for his life never becomes boring. “The little boy ended up growing up here. He was force fed pills and medicine for conditions he does not have. His doctor told you that the boy was traumatized, and did not seem to have killed the dog. He was in here for no reason. Yet, you kept him here! You also put him with another foster family instead of bringing him back to me! Do you know how hard it is to burn an entire house to the ground at the age of 16?” 

“I’m sorry!” Tears run down the man’s face now. “Yes, I remember. I remember.” His breath hitches. “You’re him.” 

“No. I am not.” Adam pulls the trigger again causing the man to almost burst out crying when he isn’t shot dead, relieved. “You remember the boy with the cello then. Cyrus Wolfe?” 

“Yes.” At this point he is breathing heavy and has tears running down his face. The man looks shamefully at the floor. “I remember the Wolfe family.” 

“You watched as my brother got beaten at least once a week until you let that maniac leave. You just let him walk out! You took a bribe and let an insane man walk free while you left my brother here to rot. Do you know how long it took me to find him, since you just released him into a stranger’s custody?! You didn’t help him at all, you've made him an anxious individual.”

“I was threatened by James Wolfe, I had my family to think about.” The man tries to justify himself, only to get pistol whipped hard in the face causing him to fall to his side. He slowly props himself up on his arm. 

“I know of James Wolfe. I’ve worked with him and I don’t blame you for fearing for your life.” Adam checks the cylinder of the gun to see that the next chamber has a bullet in it. He then grabs the front of the man’s suit and pulls him closer. “But you did not help my brother in the slightest. That is the take away from all of this. You are not a good person. You are a selfish, greedy, son of a bitch. You could have moved one of them so they never were around each other. Better yet, you could have just let my brother go! He was perfectly fine except for his anxiety and trauma. You could have transferred him to a better hospital, to better doctors. The things that his original doctor did were despicable, it took you too long to fire him for misconduct with a patient, a minor.” 

The rage returns in his eyes as he drags the man back up onto his knees. “You’re going to get what’s been coming for a long time.” Adam snarls. “Open your goddamn mouth!” 

“Please, I’m sorry! I don’t want to die!” 

The pleas fall onto deaf ears, Adam wraps his hand around the man’s neck. His grip tightening as the man gasps for breath. “Open. Your. Mouth. You. Cunt.” He demands with a low growl coming from the back of his throat. 

“Please, I-”

Adam forces the barrel of the gun into the man’s mouth, scraping and chipping a tooth doing so. He shoves it all the way into the back of the man’s throat causing him to gag and cough. “Fuck you! I’ll see you in Hell.” He cries, quickly ripping the gun out of his mouth and shoots the man point blank in the face. 

The loud shot of the gun reverberates from the wall, echoing in Adam’s ears. In an instant blood is splattered on the floor and the desk behind where the man was. Adam lets go of the neck, allowing the body to fall limply onto the floor where a pool of blood begins to encircle it. 

All emotion leaves Adam’s face, he lets out a deep sigh and takes in an even deeper breath. The relief he feels makes his shoulders relax. _It only gets easier._ Adam has murdered plenty of people. For himself, for the gang he was a part of. Killing was never the issue, the only problem he had was the enjoyment he sought out from it. The high is amazing and surges through his entire body for hours after the kill. What’s wrong though is that Adam knows that this is not normal. He is himself the type of person he would kill, but he pushes those thoughts back down. _I have finally gotten revenge for Andy. I’m making up for my mistakes now. For my brother. He will be happy to know he has died._ He quickly swipes his arm across the desk, throwing everything on it to the floor and hums to himself as he quickly starts writing a message in blood. _I will never have a normal life. But at least Andrew can try._

The sound of running in the hall causes Adam to snap back to reality. Several people are coming to find out what the loud noise was. He quickly grabs his black duster and wraps it around him and opens the window. He pushes out the screen and hops out, falling two stories down into the bushes outside. 

_Sherlock will be here soon._ He runs off into the thin woods near the building, disappearing without even being seen. Though, it hardly matters now. _A little cat and mouse never hurt anyone._


	11. Skull Ties

“Where are we going?” 

“I’m dropping you off with Carla and her parents for the weekend.” Adam says softly. “Carla said that she would be more than happy to take you to the library if you get the call back. So you can take my phone with you.”

“I could just go home if you don’t want to be around me.” Andrew mutters, looking down at his hands.  _ I knew he would get tired of me. _

“I am not trying to get rid of you Andrew. You like Carla and I’ll be coming back after my shift tonight. Then I have the weekend off. I’ll be there with you.” Adam looks over with a smile, though it’s not filled with much emotion. It never is. “Her parents are wonderful people too and they will love to have you over.” 

__ “Why is Carla over at her parents?” 

__ “It was her younger brother’s birthday. He just turned 19. He had to go back to school already but she thought she would spend some time with them. She did still live with them until she moved in with me. I’m sure she misses it.” Adam again glances over, relieved to see a small smile on his brother’s face.  _ I will not abandon you.  _ “You brought your guitar right? I have to pick one up for myself before I come back, so you can teach me how to play better.” 

Andrew’s face lights up. “That would be nice. I’m glad you’re bringing me then.” 

_ Well, mostly because you lost your flat and you won’t tell me.  _ “Good. I need to think about some stuff now.” Adam turns the volume up on the radio a bit and goes quiet. He spaces out as he drives but still gets them to the destination. A large house in the suburbs of London. Adam parks in the driveway and steps out. “You’ve never met Carla’s parents have you?” 

__ Andrew shakes his head as he gets out, pulling his arms closer to himself and becoming a little nervous. “I have not. Are they just as nice as Carla?” 

_ “ _ Oh they’ll love you I’m sure. They are very nice people.” Adam walks across the grass and leads his brother to the back yard. An older couple is sitting down at an outdoor table next to a grill. “Hello Becky, Nathan.” He greets with as much of a heartfelt smile as he can. “This is my slightly younger brother, Andrew. Carla mentioned he could stay here for the night?” 

“Oh look at this boy.” The woman, Becky, looks to be around 44 years old. Her brown hair gets blown around by the slight breeze as she stands up and walks over. Andrew is a little shocked to hear that her accent is mostly American. “You’re just in time for lunch. Nate is cooking up some burgers and a nice salad for you Adam. Carla is cooking your salmon as we speak.” She walks over to the twins. “Wow. The resemblance is remarkable, I know you’re identical and all but it’s just amazing to see. How are you Andrew? I’ve heard so many good things about you.” She smiles and motions to the empty chairs at the table. “Please, have a seat.” 

Andrew relaxes at Becky’s calm tone. “Thank you, Becky.” He says softly as he sits down, his body still rather wound up tight. “It’s a pleasure to meet you guys. And I’m doing fine. Thank you for asking.” 

“Now, Adam tells me you play the guitar.” 

Adam blocks out their conversation as he walks over to the grill where Nathan is now. The man is right around the same age as Becky. His hair is short and nicely groomed with different shades of grey going through the dark brown of it. “How have you been Nate? How’s the boy, Daniel?” 

“Oh he’s just fine. He had to go back to school early to study for his classes.” Nate keeps his attention on the burgers on the grill. “He makes me so proud with him being almost top of his class. I’d like to see him get a good education, just like you.” 

_ This is what I could have had.  _ “Well, I got several degrees yet I still work at a bar.” Adam says softly, his eyes spark with longing as he looks around at the happy couple.  _ I still could have this.  _

“You do what you want though. You are still young, at least you have them when you need them. I bet your father would have been proud of you if he saw what you managed in so short of time.” Nate pauses for a second. “My condolences. Carla mentioned he passed away when you were a child.” 

_ Oh yes, very proud.  _ Adam hisses to himself. “I’m sure he would be. It’s fine to talk about it Nate, heart attacks take people away sometimes. Luckily I was already in uni and could handle myself.” 

“Oh Adam! You’re just in time.” A girl around the age of 22 runs out of the patio door and down the steps of the small deck. She wraps her arms around Adam’s waist from behind and buries her face in his neck. “I’ve missed you. I prepared your salmon just how you like it since I know you don’t like beef.” 

Adam chuckles and turns around, giving back the embrace for a moment before stepping back. “I’ve missed you too, although having the house to myself was quite nice as well. After we eat I really must be going again.” 

Carla pouts a bit. “Can’t you call off work and just stay for the weekend?” 

“No, they were nice enough to let me take the weekend off. I can’t just leave them with no one to cover my night.” Adam follows Carla to the table and sits down between his brother and her. “How are you doing?” He softly whispers to his brother. 

Andrew flashes him with a huge smile. “Oh, it’s great here. Becky was just telling me all about her cats inside. I love cats.” Andrew looks up as a plate is set in front of him with a burger. “Oh thank you, sir.” Andrew says softly, a little calmer now. His eyes dart all over Nathan and calms down after he deems the man trustworthy.

Adam begins to cut into his freshly cooked salmon that Carla had brought out. “Well that’s good. I knew you two would get along.”

The family eats while talking about what they will do over the weekend together. Andrew brings up the beach, since he’s never been to one. Adam scrunches his nose a bit but doesn’t say anything as the rest of Carla’s family all agree that that would be fun. He eats in silence, listening to the ongoing chatter. 

_ Boring.  _ Adam sighs.  _ I longed so much for a family like this. Am I too dysfunctional to even enjoy it properly?  _ He tunes out the rest of the conversation as he thinks of his next plan of action.  _ The man who was stealing from his job could be a nice victim next. Or the man on trial for rape that walked free due to a mishandling of the case. _ He ponders the thought for a moment. Going through exactly how he would kill them, since he already knows  _ where _ they would be found.  _ At this point Sherlock will be getting out of Ashworth, too drawn to the scene in the Administrator’s office too much to realize that the place has more meaning to me. And Mycroft probably has already figured it out. He will think that Andrew is the one doing this since I’m completely off the grid. Everything I own is in the name of Charles Sheridan. I’d love to see his face when I rip into his chest and pull out his heart.  _

__ “Don’t you think so Adam?” Carla nudges him in the side lightly. 

“What? I’m sorry I zoned out.” He mutters, looking up and around the table. “What do I think?” 

“That you should stay here because of all the murders that are happening near you. My parents just brought it up. They worry for us. Considering how much you go on walks.”

_ Um, no I would like to stay at my own house through all this. Thank you. _ “I think I would be fine. I’ll see how things are on Sunday. If you would like to stay here longer that would be fine though. I just like being close to my work. I hate long travels.” Adam answers. “Plus your plants would die, love.” 

“If you say so.” She sighs. 

Adam nods. “Thank you for the offer though guys. I really do appreciate it. I’m sure I’ll be fine though.”  _ This is all going to crumble eventually. No. I can do this. I can lead two lives. I’ve done it so far.  _

* * *

_ He was pointing me in the direction of his next victim.  _ Sherlock studies the body before him. The blood is still wet on the ground. The body itself was found only a few minutes before he and John had arrived. He goes over to the desk where the message is scrawled in blood. 

**Sometimes things hit a little too close to home.**

**Your Entertainer**

_ One of his teeth was badly cracked and broken. Meaning that the attacker jammed something, probably the gun, into his mouth before shooting him in the middle of the man’s face.. _ “This was obviously personal.” He muses softly looking over the mess of things on the floor. He picks up a laptop and hands it over to John. “We’re taking this.” 

“Shouldn’t we wait for Lestrade to come?” John looks at Sherlock’s ‘really?’ face and shakes his head. “Never mind.” 

“There are teardrops on his coat, which means that he was crying. That means our Entertainer took his time before killing him. That and he had the gun pointed in his face. By how he is laid out I would say he was forced onto his knees and was held up when shot. The body would have fallen differently if he was just kneeling himself.” 

Sherlock kneels down beside the puddle of blood and takes in everything. His eyes land on the tie that the man is wearing. It does not match what the man was wearing at all and Sherlock doubts that he would even wear a tie given where he works.  _ A blue tie with white skulls on it.  _ With a gloved hand he lifts the tie up and looks it over.  _ An Alexander McQueen tie.  _ His eyes look thoughtful as he reads the back. 

Sherlock closes his eyes and remembers his first meeting with Moriarty. The blue Westwood matching the same tie as the one in his hand.  _ You’re toying with me now. After all these years.  _

__ “John. Stay here and get a ride back to the flat with Gary’s men. I need to go visit my brother.” 

“Why can’t I go with you?” John looks confused. “I always go with you.” 

“I want to be alone. I need time to think and you’ll only weigh me down.” Sherlock undoes the tie and takes it off the body. “I’ll be home tonight.” He walks out at a brisk pace. 


	12. One Eye Blind

“Alright, what do you know?” Sherlock says as he barges through the door to Mycroft’s office. He tosses the blood stained tie over onto his desk. 

“You could have called.” Mycroft says, picking up the tie with care. “Know about what?” 

“The case. This is the same exact tie that Moriarty wore the first time I met him. Is he alive?” Sherlock rushes the words out of his mouth as he paces the floor. 

“I have no idea if Moriarty himself is alive but I was able to find something on the man who took your neighbor and I.” Mycroft points to the folder next to him. “His name is Andrew Welsh. He was in an insane asylum for the formative years of his life after his adopted family noticed him killing small animals.” 

Sherlock reads through Andrew’s file and looks at the picture.  _ Definitely Moriarty’s son. _ “So it is his son.” He says out loud this time, looking up at Mycroft. “What else?” 

“Maxwell was in the same asylum under the name of Cyrus Wolfe and terrorized the boy. Other than that, it’s all I know.” Mycroft looks back at his computer. “I have my men trying to get more information at this time. But both Andrew and Maxwell have covered up their lives very thoroughly.” 

“So, that’s why the head administrator was killed. He was angered that they didn’t do anything to help him. So how would I be able to find him if you have nothing else to give me?” 

“You are not  _ that  _ stupid, dearest brother. I’m sure he will slip up eventually. Perhaps he would like to meet you in person. Why not try and reach out to him?” Mycroft looks over with a slight know-it-all smile. 

Sherlock thinks for a moment.  _ I could leave my own message.  _ “Alright. I think I can take it from here.” He closes the file and puts it at his side. 

“What are you going to do?” 

Sherlock turns towards the door. “Nothing I’d want to tell you. I’ll be in touch.” He answers as he walks out. 

Hours later Sherlock runs up the stairs to his flat, finding John passed out on the couch.  _ He really should be sleeping more. Nightmares have come back.  _ He walks past while taking off his coat and grabs the laptop from the crime scene. He opens it up and cracks the pass code within another few hours. Sherlock tries to go through everything on the computer only to find that it’s all been wiped clean. The whole computer has been reset in the past week or two and the only thing on it are emails. He begins to scroll through each individual email, finding nothing that really catches his eye until he finds one from two days ago in the trash.

**Are you afraid to die asshole?**

Sherlock grins as he looks at the email name it came from.  sherlocksgonnafall@sqmail.co.uk _ This has to be him. _ He quickly responds to the email. 

**Your father was more into face to face talking, would you care to pick a place? -SH**

* * *

  
  


Adam checks his phone and grins to see a new email pop up, but puts it away for now. He walks into the bar, ready for his shift. He wears a simple v-neck black shirt and jeans, feeling more relaxed tonight.  _ Just one shift, a swift murder and I can go back and enjoy the presence of my family.  _ He smiles to himself as he clocks in and goes behind the bar. “Have a good night Margrette.” He says as the other bartender starts to gather her stuff to head out for the night. 

“You too Charles.” The girl says. She couldn’t be much older than Carla. “Thanks for covering the last 4 hours of my shift. I know your vacation was supposed to begin today.” 

“It’s perfectly fine. Head home to study for your finals.” Adam states, already getting to work and taking someone’s drink order. He looks around the bar with a slight smile which quickly fades when he lays his eyes on a very drunken man in the corner. A cello case sitting next to him.  _ Maxwell.  _

Adam hands the drink to the customer and goes about his night as he would normally. Luckily one of the waitresses took care of Max through the entire night. It’s almost closing time in a blink of an eye as Adam looks at the time.  _ Already almost two o’clock.  _ He looks back at the corner of the bar to see that Maxwell is still there.  _ This would be the perfect gift for my brother. _

Adam wraps up quickly as he calls closing time. There’s only a handful of people left who slowly get up to leave for the night. “Are you okay to wrap up after this? I need to get back to my family.” He asks the last waitress. 

“Yeah, of course, Charles.” She says with a smile. “See you next week.” 

Adam nods and quickly leaves, getting into his car. He pulls it into an alleyway and waits.  _ Andrew will be so happy to get his revenge with me! He’ll see me as his protector.  _ He smiles to himself, quite proud that he has been able to kill two birds with one stone. He will get rid of the man who made his brother’s life hell as well as produce another body for Sherlock. 

Maxwell stumbles out of the bar moments later, limping once more and having a hard time moving in a straight line.  _ Which way is home?  _ He looks around and keeps heading in the same direction. His hands are in his coat pockets as his cello is slung across his back. One of his hands wraps around the knife. He slowly eases it out of the sheath as he holds it in his pocket, rubbing his finger across the cold metal of the blade.  _ Tonight would be a good night to have a little fun.  _ The odd voice in the back of his mind pops up again and he shakes his head.  _ Stop. _

Suddenly two arms grab Maxwell and yanks him into the alleyway. He brings out the knife and swings his arm out in no general direction, losing his cello in the process. He turns around and backs away, trying hard to focus his eyes. “You?” He asks, looking at Adam. 

“Yes, me.” Adam growls, lunging forward and wrapping his arm Max’s neck and forces the other man to turn around. “Now come quietly. Wouldn’t want you to get hurt now.” He grunts as he tightens his arm around the struggling man. 

Max gasps for breath as he slams the knife into Adam’s arm, but it doesn’t go away. “Get off me!” He snarls as his face becomes red. He lashes out wildly at the man behind him, trying to get out of his grasp to no avail. Max moves the handle of the knife in a slightly better position and wraps his other hand around Adam’s arm. He brings his arm up quickly, the blade going towards Adam’s face, once he makes contact he rips it to the side. There isn’t even a sound of pain coming from Adam. “What is wrong with you!?” Max cries, stabbing wildly at the man’s arm trying to get free. 

Adam growls as he feels his arm being used as a pincushion but cannot feel any of the pain. He reaches into his back pocket and grabs out a syringe full of a sedative. He flicks the cap off with one finger and jams it into Maxwell’s neck. The man passes out seconds later. Adam lets the man go and he crumples to the floor. Blood is dripping to the ground from his arm. He touches his face to feel that there is blood there as well. 

Knowing that none of the injuries are life threatening Adam opens up his trunk and pulls out duct tape and wraps up Max’s arms behind his body as well as taping his legs shut before putting him into the trunk. He makes sure to wrap duct tape over the man’s mouth as well. He quickly runs through his pockets and pulls out Max’s phone and wallet and puts it in his own coat. With that done he shuts the truck and locks it. 

Adam gets into the driver’s seat and looks in the mirror. He stops and stares at himself for a long time. His eye and the side of his face has a long slash mark in it, blood oozes out of it and runs down his face.  _ Oh fuck. _ He notices that the left side of his vision is completely black.  _ That fucker took out my eye!  _ He growls as he starts the car and pulls out of the alley, making sure to run over the cello case in the process before heading home. He gently daps his left eye here and there with the bottom of his shirt but his vision stays dark on that side. _ This is gonna be difficult to explain. _ He growls in frustration.  _ You will DEFINITELY pay for this if I’ve gone blind in this eye. _


	13. Emails

Adam glances at the clock in the car.  _ Dammit I’m late.  _ He looks back up to the mirror to check on the gauze he taped over his eye and the side of his face. The blood is dry now, hopefully it has stopped bleeding. He’s put on a long sleeve button up shirt to hide the bandages wrapped around his arm.  _ Carla is gonna kill me.  _

When pulling into the driveway, Adam is pleasantly surprised to see that the other car is gone.  _ Yes, I remember the parents needed to go somewhere...the store I think.  _ He parks and turns off the car. Sitting silently in the seat and staring at the house.  _ What am I gonna tell her if she’s still home?  _ He takes a moment ,sighs and gets out of the car.The early morning sun is hidden by fluffy grey clouds. 

__ He slowly walks to the house and opens the front door. Somewhere on the second floor Andrew is playing his guitar and there’s faint sounds in the kitchen. “Carla?” He closes the door softly and goes through the living room to get to the kitchen. “Now, don’t panic. I’m completely fine-” He starts off. 

__ Carla turns from the fridge and cries out in shock. “Oh my God, what happened to your face?!” She cries, quickly running over. “Adam you need to go to the hospital.” 

“I just said I was completely fine.” Adam says, backing away from Carla when she goes to check what is under the bandages. “I patched it up and it’s okay. I just got stabbed by a lunatic while going to my car last night.”  _ Not exactly a lie.  _

“No, you could have damage in your eye Love. We need to get it checked out right now.” Carla says sternly. “With your condition we really need to see if any other damage is done other than what you think it is.” She grabs her spare car keys from the counter and marches past him, tugging on his arm a bit as she goes by. 

“Carla please. I just want to enjoy the weekend.” He says exhausted. “I would like to sleep, and enjoy the company of your family.” 

Carla already has the front door open. “After this, I promise, but I really want you to get that checked out.” 

Adam is quick to follow her outside. “I think you’re overreacting. It’s just a small cut.” 

Carla gets into the driver’s seat and starts the car. “Go and get your brother. We are going to the doctor.” 

Adam rubs his good eye and sighs.  _ Goddamn it.  _ “I can go myself, Andrew is playing the guitar and doesn’t like hospitals.” He says going over to the driver’s side, leaning on the open door. “Will you stay with him while I go get checked out?” 

Carla looks skeptical at Adam. “Do you promise? If they are not in stitches or medically attended to when you get back I’ll be really angry.” 

Adam motions for Carla to get out and sits where she just was. “I promise I’ll get it checked out okay? Stay here with Andrew. I’ll be back soon.” He smiles softly. “Thank you for caring.” He says as he puts the car in reverse. He hesitates for a moment “Love you.” 

“Love you too.” She smiles softly. “Thank you.” As Adam drives out she walks back into the house. 

* * *

**How about the pool?**

Sherlock smirks a little as he reads the email.  _ It’s about time he answered back. _ He thinks to himself, sipping on the tea that Mrs. Hudson made this morning. He looks over at John still asleep on the couch and back at the laptop in front of him. It’s almost afternoon now, the sun once again floods the flat through the windows.  _ I didn’t hear the neighbor come in last night.  _ He looks thoughtfully to the broken door and back to the laptop as he responds to the email. 

**Tonight then? -SH**

He sits back, refreshing every so often. His eyes are heavy, it’s only been three days without sleep and his body is already rebelling.  _ It’s just transport. Why does it need to be so difficult?  _ He sighs softly, looking back at the file about Andrew before refreshing again. He perks up a bit in his chair to see a reply already. 

**I’m taking the weekend off. Why don’t you sleep Mr. Holmes?**

Sherlock looks at the message for a moment before shutting the laptop and looking around.  _ Curious.  _ He closes his eyes.  _ Taking the weekend off? What kind of criminal is he? Just lazy, or he has someone to care about. A family? It’s very possible. Many killers have had normal lives. Maybe not a wife yet, but perhaps a significant other keeping him weighed down. He could be hiding it all from them.  _

__ By the time Sherlock opens his eyes again he immediately notices two things. The first is that his face is down on the laptop before him and the second is that John is gone.  _ Damn.  _ He looks over to the clock to see that he has lost 4 hours of his day. He stands up and listens for the sounds of his flatmate. “John?” He calls. 

A few seconds go by and he calls out again for his friend. Relieved to see him coming through the door. “John where were you?” 

“You were sleeping so I left you alone.” John answers, carrying his umbrella. “I went and got some food. I didn’t bother waking you to ask if you wanted any, since I know you very well.” 

“What makes you say that?” Sherlock asks as he opens the laptop again to find another message. 

**Perhaps Monday night. Pencil me in for the afternoon.**

“You tend not to eat when on a case like this one.” John answers sitting down. “If you are hungry I’m sure you’ll find something to eat.” 

_ He does know me so well.  _ “I’m not hungry at all thank you.” Sherlock says without breaking his look at the laptop.  _ Pencil in? You better be there. You have given up your presence to my brother, of all things.  _

**Why don’t we just pen it in? You’re having me go on a goose chase. A hello would be nice first -SH**


	14. The Loving Uncle

“Cyrus!” 

Maxwell looks up at the name, dropping the book he was reading. “Yes uncle?” He stands from his chair. 

“Why have you disappointed me so much?” The man in front of him is only in his mid 40’s. His light brown hair is brushed back, some of it feathers down the left side of his face. His eyes are a dark brown, looking as if they were pure black. They spark with devilish intent, pure malice. 

“What do you mean James?” Max looks around confused at the layout of the room. It’s dark, nothing inside, just a concrete room with no door. The only source of light is above them. 

“You left your family. Why didn’t you come back to us when you got out of prison?” James cocks his head to one side. “You went off, didn’t even care enough to tell me. I helped you get out of that asylum and this is how you repay me?” 

A searing pain begins to erupt in Max’s head and he grips it tightly, grunting in discomfort. “You took me out of there and away from Jacob for months at a time under the guise of being a supportive uncle!” He yells, his voice echoing down the dark corridor that seems to now go on for miles. “You used me!” 

“I trained you to be the very best. You renounced your Wolfe name, and spit on the name your father picked for you.” James’ eyes narrow. “Pathetic. I liked you better when you weren’t Maxwell.” 

Max whimpers and falls to his knees in pain, his head feeling as if it were to explode at any moment. “I hated that I was named after him. He was nothing but an abusive father...and...so are you! You both were in that business, the stupid goddamn gang of yours. You wanted me to be the best but you only made my mind shatter. I killed Matthew because of you!” 

James walks around him and chuckles. “Who cares? I certainly don’t. Matt was just weight on you. He wasn’t a Wolfe so why would I care?” He stops back in front of Max. “You love your adopted brothers so much, why do you not call Jacob? Why don’t you try and reconnect?” 

“ENOUGH!” Max cries, he looks up as the light flickers before going out, leaving him in the darkness. “You don’t understand how it is! You’ll never understand because you’re a monster!” He hisses, tears streaming down his face. “Why are you even here? You are not real.” He searches the darkness for any sign of his uncle only for the floor to cave in. Max falls down and slams into the ground. 

With a gasp Max wakes up on the concrete floor. His heart races as he tries to remember the dream only for his brain to blank out as it usually does.  _ Of course the night terrors I’ll remember but anything other than that I won’t.  _

He tries to get up only to find his arms are still taped behind him tightly. With a small grunt he lifts his head and looks around at the damp room he’s in, tape is wrapped around his mouth still and he breathes heavily through his nose as he looks at the wall he lays next too. Max’s ankle has a metal cuff locked on it, a chain connects it with the wall. 

_ Where am I? What happened last night? I went out drinking but...I’m here.  _ He grunts as he sits up, groaning in pain. It feels as though he’s been hit by a trolley, or at least beaten badly. He looks down at the wall where the chain is attached.  _ It’s secured into the wall but perhaps I could try and wiggle the bolts loose.  _ He flexes his arms out to the sides and grunts as he tries to break the tape around his wrists. His face becomes red as he exerts himself with no success on getting free.  _ How long has it been? _

His mouth is dry and his stomach growls from not having anything to eat since the day before yesterday. He looks around, seeing that it’s mostly empty wherever he is except for a dresser in the corner. Other than that it looks like just the standard basement of a house. Max looks up and sees that he’s underneath the stairs, half of the basement blocked by the concrete under them. He tries to stand, struggling a little but manages to do so.  _ The chain is too short. I can’t go much further. Shite.  _ He sighs, seeing he can only take about 4 steps forward.  _ I’ll find a way out of this. I have to.  _

* * *

Mycroft looks up from his phone to notice the man getting out of a car.  _ Now, what are you up to?  _ He thinks to himself as he sees the man grab a guitar out of the back, oblivious that he’s being watched.  _ Hmm, not just a cello man then? Makes sense with him being paid mostly from his musical talent. _

The man is wearing a long-sleeved flannel shirt over a black t-shirt. His hair is dirty blond and his beard is just over a morning stubble. He puts the straps of his guitar over his head and tunes it just slightly before grabbing a large flat board from the back of the car as well and tucking it under his arm. With his free hand he grabs the guitar case and shuts the door. He turns and makes his way towards a semi busy walkway near the water of the Thames. He chooses a place right next to a lamp post and sets the board on the ground as well as his open guitar case. While doing this he whistles a particular tune before standing on the wooden square below him. He takes another moment to finely tune the guitar. 

Mycroft opens up his door. “Leave the car running, Anthea.” He says, stepping out dressed in one of his signature suits. He grabs his newly replaced pocket watch and checks the time before strolling over as the musician starts to perform to no one in particular. 

The man starts playing his song with his right foot tapping on the wooden platform below him. His tap dancing shoes make it easy to substitute the lack of drums. His leg fumbles a little bit but the rhythm never falters as he closes his eyes and starts singing. His heavy Scottish accent loosens up a bit. Mycroft slows down even more and listens.

“Why oh why can't you just fix me?

When all I want’s to feel numb

But the medication's all done

Why oh why does God hate me?

When all I want's to get high

And forget this so-called life”

_ Interesting.  _ Mycroft watches as the man gets to the next part of the song and jumps up a bit, causing a loud thud with his shoes when he lands. 

“I am so freakin' bored

Nothin' to do today

I guess I'll sit around and medicate

I am so freakin' bored

Nothing to do today

I guess I'll sit around and medicate”

By this time several people who've passed by have thrown coins and small notes into the case before the man. His hands never slow down as they expertely go over the strings of the guitar. Only when he gets halfway through the song does Mycroft walk in front of him and drop a twenty pound note into the case. “Jacob MacDuff?” He asks pleasantly. 

Jacob looks down to the money that was just dropped and back up, stopping abruptly. “Who wants to know?” He asks, strumming the guitar impatiently. 

“My name is Mycroft Holmes and I hold a very high position in the government. I wanted to ask you about your younger brother.” 

Jacob stiffens a bit and leans against the light post behind him. “They closed that case ages ago, lad. Why do they gotta keep buggin’ me about it?” 

“No, not Matthew. Maxwell.” Mycroft corrects. “Tell me about his biological father and uncle.” 

Jacob’s eyes narrow a bit,his face growing stern. “The father was abusive and the uncle was a liar. The uncle would come around wantin’ to ‘spend time’ with his nephew and I had no issue with it. Until of course I found out the real reason.” 

“Which was?” Mycroft asks, feigning unknowing all of this already. 

“Well I didn’t know at the time but James was a man with criminal intent. He was high up on the chain of a gang. He’d take Maxie and was training him, using his anger issues and mental problems to make who he wanted outta Max. A killer, a thief, a right hand man so to say.” Jacob pulls out a cigarette and lights it, taking a long drag of it and blows the smoke to the side. “I didn’t know until Max broke down and told me. I stopped the visits from his family after that. His father was no help either. He’d beat the crap outta poor Maxie to keep him in line to what James wanted.” 

_ That explains a lot.  _ Mycroft ponders this new information for a moment. “Did they allow you to keep him away from them?” 

“For the most part. I kept my brothers close and we went everywhere together. Up until Max turned 18. As soon as he figured he could go off on his own he did. I was barely kept in the loop with him until a couple years later, probably two years ago he came back. We welcomed him of course but then, well..” Jacob stops for a moment thinking of the day he heard the news his brother Matt was murdered. 

“Maxwell snapped and killed your younger brother.” Mycroft continues the man’s sentence for him. “Right?” 

James glares at Mycroft. “No! Maxwell would never do such a thing to us. He was blamed for it sure, but it wasn’t him. He assured me.” 

Mycroft gives a surprised look, nodding a bit. “If you believe him. I wouldn’t, given his past and mental problems. It’s more logical given the evidence that he went off with his father and uncle and became even more unstable than what he already was.” 

Jacob snarls in anger. “Awa’ an bile yer heid!” He yells angrily, his accent getting thicker. “I won’t let ya talk about my brotha that way. Go on, ya heard me. Get lost!” His eyes aren’t angry though, they flood with increasing sadness. 

Mycroft stays for only a moment. He drops another note into the case before leaving.  _ So he does have more of a criminal past than I had thought before. Drawn into it by his family.  _ Mycroft goes over in his mind.  _ He can not stay at Baker Street if so. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song Jacob was singing was Theory of a Deadman-RX   
> Also "Awa’ an bile yer heid" translates to basically go away in Scottish :)


	15. Do Not Panic

Sherlock paces the floor going through everything in his mind. John is in the kitchen enjoying a cup of tea while reading the paper. _Nothing. There’s nothing going on. Is he really taking the weekend off?! It was just getting interesting!_ He suddenly kicks open the broken door to find his brother coming up the stairs. “What do you want now!?” 

Mycroft says nothing as he gets to the landing. “Where is your phone?” Mycroft asks. When Sherlock looks confused, Mycroft holds out his own to his brother, showing a text message from Sherlock’s number. 

**Moriarty Lives <3 -Sherly**

Sherlock walks into the flat silently and looks over to his phone on the table. “It’s not from mine. Your phone was hacked, did you change your number after you got your new one?” 

“Of course I changed the number, I’m not an idiot Sherlock.” Mycroft snaps, slightly annoyed. “Someone has gotten a way to send messages, which can only end in the worst way possible. Get a new phone.” 

“Did you try to text before coming here?” Sherlock asks, completely ignoring Mycroft’s tone as he picks up his own phone from the table. 

“I did yes. You didn’t answer like usual. I tried John’s number as well. I just decided to come here.” Mycroft says. “You never got them?” He asks, seeing his brother look up with a grin. 

“No. Someone must have hacked your new phone. As I just said.” Sherlock holds out his hand towards his brother. “Give it. He’s sending a message he wants to be heard.” He takes the phone from his older brother and goes to his own contact. 

**Would you like to talk about something in particular? I know you’re waiting for me to respond. -SH**

It’s not even a second later that a message comes back. Sherlock grins. _Yes, talk to me more. I’ll find you._ John is standing but stays quiet as he sees Sherlock typing away at the phone. 

**I was waiting for Mycroft to get there. How are you tonight?**

**Bored. I’ve been waiting for you to message back. -SH**

**You will not be bored for much longer.**

**I know who you are, Andrew. Why do you hide behind bodies and messages? Your father wasn’t nearly as scared of me. -SH**

**I’m methodical. I know you like a bit of a game before the reveal. He wants me to say hello. You think you know so much, your brother included, but you fail to see the bigger picture of everything.**

**Tell me then. How am I wrong? -SH**

Sherlock stretches his fingers, strolls over to the couch and sits down. “He’s _very_ talkative tonight. He’s got to have something planned for me. He’s setting up his punchline.” He mutters to himself mostly. “Moriarty is alive.” He looks up to his brother. “He’s been mentioned too many times not to be. The tie, saying hello all the time through his son. I do not think it’s just our entertainer trying to be funny.” 

Mycroft sighs softly. “I was afraid of that.”

“One Moriarty is too much, let alone two.” John adds.

Sherlock looks back down at the phone when it goes off again. 

**You fail to observe the right things.**

**Then what am I not seeing? Explain. Help me understand. -SH**

**YOU FAIL TO SEE THE BIGGER PICTURE. YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND ME BECAUSE I AM NOT MY FATHER.**

_Getting a little frustrated are we?_ Sherlock’s grin turns into a smile. _He has anger for Moriarty, not that I don’t blame him._

**What is the bigger picture? -SH**

**I am not playing for you, I’m only entertaining you. I’m playing for someone else**

Sherlock stops for a moment, reading the message over again. _He’s not doing this for me? What does that mean?_

**You’re after Maxwell, I know how he treated you. -SH**

**No.**

**I already got him last night.**

**I’m here for something else.**

**But I like watching you go through everything.**

**I do plan on breaking you possibly, as any Moriarty wants to do.**

**I want to see just how much of a sociopath you really are.**

**Make sure you fix your goddamn door.**

**DO**

**NOT**

**PANIC**

Sherlock can’t even get a word written out with how fast the replies come. He stops again and looks at them. _Do not panic?_

It’s barely a second later when Sherlock hears the loud crack of a gunshot and the glass of the window shattering. He looks up quickly to see John fall to the ground hard. “John!” Sherlock drops the phone and gets up, jumping on the coffee table and runs over to his flatmate. He kneels beside him and notices the bullet wound in his shoulder. _Nearly perfect to his old wound._ “Mycroft. Phone now!” He yells, putting his hands over the bleeding wound. 

John’s button up is already getting a bloodstain, too large for Sherlock’s liking. Although any bloodstain is unacceptable. “John?” He asks, calmer now as he looks over to see his brother is already calling an ambulance. _Missed his lung, it only went through muscle. It’s going to be fine._

John’s eyes are wide and he gasps for breath in shock. The memories, his recent nightmares and of the war flash before his eyes. His mind snaps back once Sherlock puts his hands down on the wound, making the pain shoot up through his entire shoulder. “Sh-Sherlock I’m fine.” He breathes out, lifting his head to look where he got shot. John groans and grits his teeth, trying to keep his breath as steady as possible. “It’s fine. It’s fine.” He repeats, closing his eyes only to be once again greeted with the memories. New and old pain wash over him as he lets his head fall back onto the floor. 

“John, John open your eyes and focus on me. Look at my eyes.” Sherlock demands, his voice shakes only slightly as he tries to go back to his usual calm demeanor. “Don’t think of anything but what’s in this room right now, alright? You’re in a flat at 221B Baker Street and you are going to be okay.” _This is definitely going to set off some of the more repressed memories. I’m going to kill that man._

* * *

Adam sighs, sitting back on the comfy chair of the hospital room. A fresh pad of gauze is on his eye and just about 3 stitches are seen on the side. He grins to himself, looking at his phone before putting it on the small table that’s between him and the bed he is supposed to be resting in. Stubbornness prevents him from laying in the bed while waiting for his papers and these damned doctors to approve his release. Under normal circumstances he would just leave but he needs the papers to show Carla otherwise he risks sleeping on the couch. 

“Mr. Sheridan?” A nurse walks into the room and smiles slightly. “Already up I see. How are you feeling?” 

Adam turns his head so he can see the woman who walked in. “Less drowsy now. I’m sure I’m safe to drive home myself.” He says softy, itching his good eye with his finger delicately. “I was told someone would bring my release papers.” 

“Yes I have them. You’ve been informed on how to clean and change the gauze?” 

Adam stands and walks over, reaching out and grabbing the papers from the nurses hand and smiles kindly. “Yes. I think I know what I’m doing.” His slightly condescending voice goes unnoticed by the nurse.

“Then you’re all set to leave. Sometime in the near future just schedule an appointment to get the stitches on your face and arm taken out, and try not to touch your eye directly. Have a good day Mr. Sheridan. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to contact the police about the attack?” 

“No, I’m not too worried about it, and yes, you too.” Adam walks right past her and strolls down the hallway. His mind in several places at once. On one hand he just wants to go home and relax until Monday, on the other he’d like to move on with his plan. _I could always pay Maxie a visit and throttle him for what he’s done to me._ A small growl releases from Adam’s throat. 

It’s late evening now, the sun setting slowly over the small town. Adam was very careful to choose a hospital as far from Baker Street as possible so as not to run into Sherlock and John. _Carla is going to wonder what took so long. What do I tell her? Hospitals usually are so damn slow anyway. I’m sure she won't notice and just be happy I got it fixed._

Adam looks into the rearview mirror as he gets into his car. He stares at the gauze over his eye for a very long time before starting the engine and driving off. His jaw tightens as anger slowly boils up inside him. _I will make that man scream for what he’s done._

It’s a few hours later before he pulls back into the driveway and sits back into his seat. The parents are certainly back and he has no patience to talk to anyone right now. The loss of his eye has made him quite angry, thus making it difficult to concentrate on acting normal. _Normal._ Adam sighs softly. _I’ll never be_ **_normal_ ** _, if there even is a normal in society today._

Adam zones out for a moment and blinks before looking back at the clock. It’s been 30 minutes and several lights in the house have come on. With another sigh he gets out of the car and makes his way into the house. The television is on with Nate and Becky on the couch, slowly falling asleep. Adam closes the front door silently and makes his way up the stairs, soft chords can be heard from the guest bedroom. _Andy can really keep himself entertained with that thing._

He slowly makes his way to the end of the hall and opens the last door on the right to a large room with light red walls, Carla’s room. Trinkets and pictures are across the shelves that reside near the ceiling, all of them pertaining to Carla’s family. Carla herself is slouched over at the desk in the corner, a pencil rapidly moving across the paper in front of her as she shades in the picture she has been working on. Adam steps closer and sees that it’s a portrait of himself. 

“I’m back.” He says softly, sitting on the bed. 

“Yeah, I heard you come in.” Carla sets down the pencil and looks over to Adam, who’s facing the opposite direction. “How is the eye?” She asks, standing up and walking over, she’s already in her light blue nightgown. A small gasp comes out as she sees the bit of stitching she can. 

“The doctor said I will probably regain vision when it heals fully. They don’t think that anything important was damaged. It seems that the corner of my eye was ripped open but everything else is fine.” He says softly, with his one eye it’s seen that large dark circles are starting to appear from lack of sleep lately. “Can we just go to bed?” 

Carla hesitates for a moment, wanting to ask more but just nods. “Of course. Let me go and grab a glass of water and get ready for bed. I’ll be back in a moment.” She says, walking out. 

Adam watches as Carla leaves. _Something’s up...but I really couldn’t care anymore right now._ He sighs softly and carefully takes off his shirt and changes from his black jeans into plaid night pants. He throws the clothes into the corner and pulls down the covers of the bed before laying down, wrapping the blanket close. 

“Okay.” Carla comes back with a glass of water and shuts the door before turning the light off. She goes over to her side and gets in next to Adam. “I’m sorry about your eye, Love. But I love you all the same.” She smiles slightly though Adam can barely see it in the dark. 

Adam does not say anything as he wraps his arms around her and brings her closer. Carla’s face goes right against his chest and she listens to the heart beat for a moment before turning herself around so that they are back to chest. “I love you too.” Adam mumbles tiredly, but this time from his heart as he wraps his arms slightly tighter around her waist. His face goes into her hair and he closes his eye. _Why does her hair smell so beautiful?_ _One day, I think I’ll marry this woman. Now, how am I going to make that man suffer?_ Adam slowly falls asleep to the images of what he could do as payment for his eye. This was no longer about his brother, this was about integrity.


End file.
